Subdued
by mostlytvstuff
Summary: When they found their way to her bedroom, it felt like everything they had ever done or said to each other was leading to this moment. For Mindy, it felt like everything she had ever done or said to anyone was leading to this. Because with every guy she had ever been with, she tried to make it feel like what this was. She tried to make it a sparkly fairytale. And here she was with


_Inspired by Mindy's look at the Alex of Venice premiere..._

He looked down at her and pulled his head back a bit. He could see her dark hair as it fell just partially across her face. Even though she was barely shorter than he was, he still liked the feeling of seeing the top of her head. Her outfit was subdued – mostly dark with simple patterns – a deep contrast to her personality. But she still felt bright and alive in his arm as they walked down the street.

It was strange to feel that way – they were just seeing a movie. But it was a real date. And he knew she had spent time preparing. He was conflicted knowing that. In one sense, he loved that she had taken time with her hair, her make-up, her clothes to make things just right. But he also wanted her to know that she could wear those ridiculous pajamas she wore when she was trying to get rid of Cliff, and he would still want to rip them off of her and make her scream his name.

But when she opened the door to her apartment, he loved the way his breath stuttered at her beauty. She really was… something.

She loved it too. Selecting her outfit, her hair, her make-up – she wanted it to be right. Just right. But not for the usual reasons – not because she was afraid he would reject her, or find her unattractive. She wanted it to be right just for that moment – that moment when she opened the door, and he looked at her like he had never seen her before. She wanted to be the best version of herself, and she wanted him to be in awe.

What she didn't know was the best version is what he saw every time he looked at her. And he was always in awe.

He looked good. And he smelled good. If hopeful had a smell, it was on him. She didn't love cologne. But Danny used just enough to make him smell like he had tried to be more glamorous, more exotic, more like her. And it was intoxicating.

He tried to stay cool. But she could see the sweat beading on his forehead. He wiped it away nervously. Why did this feel like a first date? She knew he was sweaty – she didn't care. She tried to calm him, leaning her hips into his and whispering in his ear, "Can you believe I'm ready on time?" He looked at her a little sadly – he knew she was putting her best foot forward. And that just increased his guilt.

He wondered if she had focused on being ready on time, something wholly unnatural to her, because he had made her insecure. He had left her once. Maybe she thought she had to be something better, something more, to keep him around this time. But she was perfect. He didn't want her to be on time. He wanted her to come to the door in a robe and curlers. And make him wait on the couch while she finished perfecting herself. He wanted to fight with her about her propensity to be late. And he wanted her to make no apologies for being who she is. He wanted to fight with her about everything. He wanted her to want to kill him at least once a day. And then he wanted to drag her home and bring her back to life.

But he couldn't say all that. So he just smiled. And she just smiled. And they nervously walked to the elevator. She wanted to hold his hand. But she wasn't sure she should. She still didn't know what had scared him off in the first place. Maybe it was her attachment issues. Maybe it was his abandonment issues. But she didn't reach for his hand. And he didn't reach for hers.

They walked in awkward silence. She wasn't familiar with silence. But she remembered how he wanted to keep everything secret. And he seemed so uncertain and skittish the last time they tried this. So she held her tongue.

They went to a theater to see a movie. Neither of them cared which one. "Transcendence," and "Haunted House 2," they had said in unison at the ticket counter. Neither noticed or cared which tickets were purchased.

She ordered candy and popcorn and a drink and another bit of candy. Because it's a movie, and nothing – not even being with the handsome jerk from her office – should stand in the way of movie snacks. He paid. For everything. She added it all up in her mind, wondering if he passed the 5 date or $2000 sex threshold. But when he looked at her with his lop-sided smile, she knew it didn't matter. She would have sex with him whenever he wanted. As long as he would stay.

But he didn't want that. He didn't want her to want him so that he wouldn't leave her. He wanted her to want him. That's all. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her – which felt like an immeasurable amount. He was carrying everything - her candy, her popcorn, her tickets. All of her. Her hand grazed his as she gently slipped the tickets from his fingers to give them to the usher. He would have carried her entire life, if only she would touch him like that again.

They found a seat in the back. She insisted they sit high in the stadium seats, but on the aisle, because perverts sit near the walls, and you never know when you might have to pee. He felt like a pervert when he wondered how difficult it would be to touch her while the movie played. How challenging would it be to unclasp those sexy, tight pants and reach inside? How challenging would it be for her to keep her eyes straight ahead while he touched her?

He snapped himself out of it and sat next to her. But she thought about it too. About how tight her pants were and what kind of access he could even get when she sat next to him.

At some point in the movie, the tension between them started to ease. He stopped watching the screen all together, so he could focus on her face. He did put his hand on her thigh. But it was mostly to remind himself that she was real. That she forgave him for denying her, for leaving her, for trying to erase his feelings for her.

She knew he was watching her. And she couldn't think about anything but his hand on her thigh. His hand. Her thigh. How many times had she dreamed of this moment? Whatever was happening around them seemed irrelevant. His hand was on her thigh, inching upward. But not far enough – it was never enough.

Eventually, she decided she couldn't take this anymore. It was too much like Phil – here they both sat, too nice to say anything. Too nice to be real. And she wondered what Peter would do. He would pull Danny's hand where she wanted it to be and then drag him out of the theater. Suddenly brave, she did both.

It was a bit awkward when she put his hand where she wanted it and then tried to drag him from the theater. And she realized she probably could have spaced those activities out a bit more. But he acquiesced.

When they were back on the street, heading to her apartment, she suddenly remembered what Peter had said to her in the end – that she would have more heartbreak because she was a romantic. She stopped in her tracks. He took several steps before he realized she wasn't with him. He looked back. She had the most insecure expression he had ever seen on her. And it devastated him. He knew it was his fault.

"Peter said…"

He took several large strides to meet her. And he was standing too close. But he didn't care. Somehow, he knew this was the moment. This was the make-or-break moment of their relationship – of his life. And he wasn't going to fuck it up.

He kissed her. That seemed like the right thing. Kissing her always seemed like the right thing. "Mindy. I love you."

She pulled her head back and scrunched her face. And it was like when he met her at her door all over again. "What?" she asked, confused and overwhelmed.

"Yeah." He said, like it was movie, and of course he would be unexpectedly romantic. Because that's what she dreamed of. That's what she hoped for. And he intended to provide her with everything she dreamed of and hoped for. She was beautiful. She was talented. She was successful. What he could provide – that she couldn't give herself – was this moment.

"Min." He swallowed and stared at her. And it reminded him of the plane and the pipe room and the church and her office and all the times that had come before. "I know. I get it. I made you feel insecure. I made you feel like you had to be… something. But you are something. You are something I never knew I wanted, never knew I needed." She glanced down a bit, not sure what to think of this part of Danny.

"I kissed you on the plane because I was suddenly overwhelmed by what I wanted. And for a moment, I allowed myself to have what I wanted. And then…" He looked down, but grabbed her hand. "I guess I stopped thinking about what I wanted and started thinking about what I should want." He stared at the broken concrete of the New York sidewalk, as if looking up would cause the whole world to crumble.

"But I wanted you. God, I wanted you. And only you. And I have wanted you for so long, I don't remember what it feels like not to want you. And I just love you. And it's not like a movie," he was just blubbering now. "And it's not everything you deserve. But I want to be with you all the time. All the time. Even if it's just to carry your snacks around. I just want…" He tried to gather his thoughts, but she didn't care. That was enough.

She closed the space between them and kissed him. It was a little sloppy – they opened their mouths at different times, so it felt like a lot of licking before it felt like real kissing. Which seemed appropriate for them – a lot of missed opportunities before they were finally in sync. But once they synced…

It was good.

They laced their hands together and walked back to her apartment. He hesitated when they arrived at her door. But she tugged him with their joined hands. He looked at her, just before crossing the threshold. And he remembered just hours earlier when she had first opened her door. And how it felt like all the breath had been sucked out of him. When he hesitated, she glanced back at him. And the way he looked at her was so overwhelming, she worried that she might actually pass out. But they smiled at each other, shyly. And they both took a deep breath and walked in.

Her apartment was warm and colorful and felt like home. For both of them. They kissed again. And it was clumsy, again. Lips ad tongues and too much happening. But she pulled away. And they both took a deep breath. And they smiled at each other. And they started again. His hand found her ass. Her arms wrapped around his neck. And it was time.

When they found their way to her bedroom, it felt like everything they had ever done or said to each other was leading to this moment. For Mindy, it felt like everything she had ever done or said to anyone was leading to this. Because with every guy she had ever been with, she tried to make it feel like what this was. She tried to make it a sparkly fairytale. And here she was with this cynical, sardonic, disinterested down-to-earth man, who made every aspect of her life sparkle.

He unbuttoned her pants and let his hand roam on the free skin of her backside. It was softer than he expected. Everything about her was softer than he expected. He pealed her tight pants off and slid his hands up her shirt. She was not wearing a bra, and it was fucking sexy. He pulled back to smirk at her when he felt open access to her breasts. She smirked at him, and her eyes twinkled.

She was divested of clothing quicker than expected. She wasn't even thinking about how to position herself so as to avoid revealing the unflattering parts of her. He was so eager to see it all. He seemed to seek out all the parts of her that made her feel insecure. He longed for them – wanted to bring them into the light, examine them and kiss away all the bad feelings she had about them.

He insisted that they leave the lamp by her bed on. He remembered the conversation she had in the break room about sex without nudity. And he wanted none of that. He wanted to see and feel and experience every inch of her, just as she was.

She gave in. But only because the way he looked at her skin so reverently made her feel strangely wanton. He kissed her in all the usual places, sure. Her neck, her darkened, perked nipples, her belly. But it was the unusual places that he seemed to make special note of – just above her hips where all of her sweets seemed to collect, her inner thighs which still touched when she walked, her arms which she wished were more toned. It was when he kissed those with love and reverence that she came undone.

And she came undone quickly. More quickly than she had anticipated. Though when she first opened her door to him at the beginning of the night, the way he looked her up and down already gave her that familiar tingle between her legs. She should have known he would make quick work of her.

When he touched her the first time, he looked back at her face with a bit of awe. "You're so wet," he stated plainly. She felt a blush. But he smiled. And she smiled. And the nervousness seemed to fade. She arched her back and sighed deeply. And could think of nothing but the way his fingers felt inside her.

"Danny," she stated, more dramatic and breathy than she had intended, when she realized she was losing control. But he looked at her, so placidly, so calmly, she knew it was okay. And she let go.

He felt her shudder around his hand, and he watched her head fall back. It was possibly the most incredible experience he had ever had. He was amazed that he could make that happen. He was amazed that his Mindy – who worked out in long-sleeved (performance rhinestone) shirts and achieved sex without nudity – would be so undone in his presence. And god, he loved it. He was addicted to it. He would never think of himself again if he could see her like that, throwing her head back with abandon.

Eventually, she pulled herself together and realized he was still wearing pants. No. She unbuttoned, unzipped and pulled them off, unceremoniously. She felt loose and unhinged. And she wanted all of him. Once he was completely naked, she pulled him on top of her. She had never wanted to be so cocooned by a man before. With his arms by her head and their foreheads pressed together, she guided him into her. And there they stayed, silent and motionless.

It was so appropriate for them. To be still together. Staring at each other, as if the world around them – and even the world between them – didn't exist. And it was just their eyes, gazing into each other. And it was everything.

But Danny closed his eyes and started to move. And Mindy tilted her head back and let her eyelids flutter, wondering how this could be such a simultaneously individual and coupling experience. She could feel him pushing deeper and deeper inside her. But never deep enough. When it came to Danny, nothing was enough.

She coaxed him to move. To be faster, harder. To think only of himself. To think only about fucking her and nothing about loving her. And he obliged – hitting her in all the right places. And she had never felt more full, more colorful, more alive, than at that moment.

She lost control again. Again. It was a foreign concept to her – allowing herself to let go in the presence of another person twice. And Danny followed. He was no stranger to letting go.

But he was a stranger to not wanting to let go. He stayed inside her, holding himself just above her as their breathing started to normalize. He gazed down at her, and she looked away, hoping he would end the awkwardness and slide out like a normal guy. But he wasn't normal. He was Danny. So he stayed.

He eventually let his weight land on her. But to her surprise, he slipped his arms underneath her limp body and rolled them both over. He was still inside her, but she was on top, wondering if her weight was crushing him. Like the armadillo she had met in the desert.

But he squeezed her so tightly, she knew she was not a burden. He kissed her neck and her ear and any part of her he could reach without separating his body from hers. He whispered things to her – things she had never heard. Things that felt odd and out of place when she thought of them later.

"I love you."

"God, I missed you so much. Nothing felt right without you."

"I wanted to touch you every day. I didn't know what wanting felt like, until I looked up at your apartment."

"Stay with me. Stay here with me. Forever."

And he seemed drunk. He felt drunk. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth, but he wasn't sure where they came from. They didn't sound like him. But at the same time, they sounded just like him. They sounded like the version of him that he had always wanted to be.

He was sure he wasn't good enough for Mindy. He would never be. She was alive and vibrant and funny and neurotic and the perfect mix of everything wonderful. And he was just him – broken and uncertain and nothing like what she deserved.

But he loved her. He loved the way she felt when she shuddered around his fingers. He loved the way he felt when she looked at him. He just loved her. She felt like coming home.

So they lied like that, entwined and sweaty and a bit uncomfortable. But neither wanted to break contact. Because nothing was more important than where they were in that moment. It was subdued. It was quiet. But it felt like everything.

_So… I'm a bit of an FF virgin. What did you think? _

_Stalk me at mostlytvstuff on Tumblr_


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